how do I fall in love with pieces of myself that died many years ago? emptiness hangs in my mouth like some fickle aftertaste. and deep down, my thoughts are like frightened fish. i cut the world out of a magazine and held it in my hands. . . how easy it seemed; to crush it. to crumple it. turn it into heartache origami. i suppose i'm possessed; a mourning era––a morning light, a bowl full of teeth. i have laid myself to rest so many times that it seems i celebrate my funeral more often than my birthday.